


Sicarius

by DomesticatedFeral



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Angst, Assassin Stiles Stilinski, Assassination Attempt(s), BAMF Stiles, Beacon Hills does exist in this AU, Brawling and Fighting, Internal Conflict, Lawyer Jackson Whittemore, M/M, Original Character Death(s), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Multiple, Past Ethan/Jackson Whittemore - mentioned only, Psychological Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-12 11:42:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29134998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DomesticatedFeral/pseuds/DomesticatedFeral
Summary: “No, I began training to become an assassin. I didn’t feel like I had the time to get involved in a relationship, nor did I want anyone getting involved in all-” he gestured to himself- “this.”Jackson raised an eyebrow at his statement.“The assassin thing.”
Relationships: Stiles Stilinski/Jackson Whittemore
Comments: 35
Kudos: 35





	1. Chapter 1

Stiles waited in the cafe where he’d meet his next client. Getting there ten minutes early was good, but it cost him a coffee. He sat at the table which had a clear view of the doorway, and there he was, walking in on time.

Stiles quickly stood up as the man walked closer to him, he was wearing a suit, fedora, and held a briefcase.

“Sicarius,” he said, extending his hand out to shake, using Stiles’ assassin alias.

“Mr. Hayes,” Stiles said, shaking his hand, “pleasure meeting you.”

“The pleasure’s all mine.”

They both sit down, and a waiter quickly walks up. He orders a black coffee and since Stiles’ coffee was empty too, he just orders a glass of water.

“So, let’s cut the small talk, and talk business. I know you are one of the best assassins in Bannock. I have a very big request. A rival of mine, I want him assassinated before the trial that’s happening on the twenty-fourth.”

_ ‘That’s two weeks from now,’ _ Stiles thought.

Stiles nods, “I do my job if I get compensated enough.”

He hums, “Fifteen million for Jackson Whittemore dead,” he said, taking a picture of his target out from his briefcase, handing it to Stiles.

He didn’t need the picture, he knew the man called Jackson Whittemore. An old high school acquaintance, a top lawyer in Bannock, and Mr. Hayes’ rival.

The waiter comes and places down Hayes’ coffee and pours a glass of water for Stiles. Stiles sipped on his glass of water, thinking deeply about whether he could do the job or not. He has to, it’s going to make him neck-deep in millions.

“What are you hesitating for? Twenty million, if fifteen isn’t enough for you.” Hayes said.

“Consider it done, Whittemore will be dead before the twenty-fourth.”

“I’ll need physical confirmation, then the money will be transferred to your account.”

“Yes sir,” Stiles felt a little lump form in his throat but he quickly swallowed it down. He was genuinely unsure if he could do it.

“Pleasure doing business with you, Sicarius,” Hayes extends his hand again as he stands up.

Stiles shakes it as he stands up too.

“Do you need a ride anywhere?” He asked.

Stiles shakes his head, “No, thank you. It’s a pleasure to do business with you too, Mr. Hayes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New fic, on my birthday! woot!  
> Here's to hopefully a fic that's going to be updated weekly every Monday or Tuesday!  
> EDIT: for new readers! It's uploaded bi-weekly now! Every Monday and Thursday!


	2. Chapter 2

That night, Stiles was all alone to think of his current goal. His current target. Mr. Whittemore. He sat on the couch, the T.V was on, the news reporter reporting about another big case trial Jackson just won. He had Jackson’s picture in his hand, the cold icy blue-gray eyes of Jackson staring at Stiles. He was in his signature blue coat and silver tie.

He throws the picture onto the coffee table as he stands up. Walking to his workroom, his thoughts raced, overlapping each other about the deal he had taken up. Sitting down in front of his computer, he started to figure out Jackson’s whereabouts. His million-dollar mansion, his office in the heart of Bannock, and places he was usually seen like any five-star restaurant, shop, or other establishments.

He planned the first week for observing, following his target, and finding the easiest times where he could be assassinated. He also needed to figure out which methods to use. The second week is for carrying through with the task. To assassinate his target. To kill Jackson.

Stiles felt his heart shudder at the fact he was going to kill someone he knew. Someone he once worked with. Goddamnit, they were biology partners back in highschool.

Those days were long gone, he reminded himself. He can’t let them influence him.

_ “Assassinating someone you knew. It’s hard only if you let your emotions influence yourself. Assassins can’t let emotions mix with work. Keep that shit out of your target,”  _ Mr. Logan would say, the veteran assassin who took Stiles under his wing. Teaching him, molding him into one of the best assassins in Bannock, possibly across the United States.

“Shut them down Stiles. Don’t let them mix with your work,” he said, curling his fists as he took a deep breath to clear his head.

He had thirteen days, starting straight at four in the morning tomorrow. He had to drive himself to where Jackson’s mansion was. A few miles out of Bannock.

He gets out of the workroom, shutting everything down for the night. He needed to eat and sleep before it was too late. A cup of ramen was all he ate. He tried keeping his head blank, but his thoughts kept drifting to Jackson and to the deal he made with Hayes.

Sleeping was hard that night, but he slept at around midnight, only to wake up three hours later. Groggily, he got himself up, splashing cold water on his face to wake up. He needed to be alert especially during the next few days. He needed to make sure he observed every single thing that was happening in Jackson’s life. The bodyguards, the people he meets, his whereabouts, everything.

Stiles had the easiest way to observe Jackson. With him having a bit of history with Jackson, it’d be easy to inch his way into Jackson’s life without it seeming odd.

He got in his car, he drove a black BMW Series-five car, a pretty simple car with a lot of practicality. He kept his signature jeep back in Beacon Hills. He parks a few roads away, getting to the mansion right before the sun rises.

Stiles looks around the property, two security guards were posted at the main gate and two more at a side gate. Stiles assumes they would be there at all times, but he had to find out when the shifts would change during the week.

The sun rises, Stiles watches from a distance before, he gets in his car and he moves it onto the road, parking at the end of it.

Stiles saw the gate move, it was opening and he quickly got out, walking down the pavement, jogging lightly as he got closer to find Jackson running out with a bodyguard behind him. Stiles looked at his watch, it was six in the morning. Jackson turns towards Stiles and jogs, his eyes fixed on the ground. Stiles paces himself, bumping lightly into Jackson as he jogged past.

“Hey, watch where you’re-” Jackson said, turning around.

Stiles turns around and Jackson’s jaw drops a little.

“Stiles?”

“You remember me?” Stiles asked, in a teasing tone.

“Why wouldn’t I, jackass?” Jackson said walking closer to Stiles and embracing him in a hug, “how are you doing? I haven’t seen you in years.”

“Well, I’ve been working. I was a bodyguard until I got laid off with the man going bankrupt. So, now, I’m just unemployed.”

“Bodyguard?”

Stiles nods.

“Thought you were going to be the sheriff of the stink-town Beacon Hills or something.”

Stiles laughed briefly, “Looking over a population of thirty thousand and growing would be too much, I figured.”

“Speaking of you being unemployed, how long has it been?”

“Six months now, starting to work things on the side while I try to find a job.”

Jackson says nothing, his eyes going up and down Stiles.

“You’re certainly got more muscle than you used to, how's a meeting over lunch, sound?”

Stiles smiles, “that’d be okay.”

“Mansion, one on the dot. I’ll see you then, Stilinski.”

Stiles nods, Jackson turns and he continues jogging down the pavement, the bodyguard following him.

_ ‘Great,’  _ he thought, as he let out a big breath, regret bubbling up at what he had just agreed on.  _ ‘Just great.’ _

In a way, it made things harder and easier. His plan would need a little bit of tweaking, but he was going to do this for the twenty million.

As Jackson continued on his morning jog, Stiles followed in his car, noting down the route. The run seemed to be going through roads shaded with two rows of trees and nothing else. It was the perfect place to assassinate someone and get away with it.

The run ends in an hour, and Stiles follows the limo that leaves the mansion at half-past seven. Jackson was inside, on his way to work.

He worked in his law firm, Whittemore Consultancy. Jackson walks out of the limo, his bodyguard by his side as he disappears into the building. Stiles couldn’t enter the building without a legal case, which he didn’t have at the moment.

Stiles takes pictures of Jackson entering the building and the building itself. He then goes home, he’d have to eat something and be at the Whittemore Mansion at one for an interview over lunch.

He takes a shower, before grabbing a bagel for breakfast from the bodega on the ground floor of the apartment building he was living at. He spent his morning researching Jackson’s career, his past cases, and trials that he’d taken up and won. When the clock ticked half-past twelve, he drove to the Mansion, he made it around the same time the limo did. He parks his car outside and walks to the gate.

“State your name and why you’re here,” the security guard ordered.

“Stiles, Stiles Stilinski. An old friend of Jackson Whittemore’s and he’s invited me for lunch.”

The security guard speaks into his walkie-talkie, someone on the other side confirms it and they let Stiles in.

Stiles walked down the driveway, the modern mansion stood tall and looked like it was fifty percent glass. It had a curved driveway, leading to a garage door that looked like it would be bigger than his entire apartment inside.

_ ‘Of course, it would,’ _ Stiles thought to himself.

Jackson was waiting at the front door, “Did you walk here?” he asked.

“No, my car’s parked outside,” Stiles said, pointing his thumb backward at the gate.

“Give me your keys, I can ask someone to move it inside.”

“No, it’s fine.”

“A parking ticket’s fine to you? Oh wait, you never got one in your life with your daddy being the sheriff,” Jackson said.

Stiles exhales, taking his car key out and handing it to Jackson. He throws it to the valet who was waiting on the right of him.

“Bring it inside,” he ordered the valet.

“Yes, sir.”

He scurried away and Stiles followed Jackson inside. The house reminded Stiles of Jackson’s house in Beacon Hills, but vastly bigger and more luxurious. The dining room was grand, and the table was already being set up.

Jackson sits at the head of the table and Stiles sits on the right and two waiters bring in plates covered by cloches. Stiles raised his eyebrows at how Jackson was living a dream many wished for while being neck-deep in riches.

‘Well, he worked his ass off to get to this point in life,’ he heard his internal voice say.

“Mini Brioche Lobster Rolls, that’s the appetizer,” Jackson’s voice snapped Stiles out of his thoughts.

“Oh,” Stiles said, looking down at the five essentially meatballs of lobster on his plate.

He takes one and eats a bite of it, “it’s nice.”

“Of course, I’d be worried if it wasn’t. Anyway, so, what happened to you, Stiles? You seemed to fall off the face of the Earth when the whole Monroe’s war against all supernaturals ended,” Jackson asked.

“Well,” Stiles started,  _ ‘I don’t know what happened to me, either,’ _ he thought to himself.

“Well?” Jackson interrupted Stiles’ thoughts, before putting another  _ brioche _ -meatball piece in his mouth.

“I guess, I wanted to go out into the world alone for a while. Then I became a bodyguard and after that, there was no time for personal relations, really.”

“I see. Are you still with Lydia, or?”

“Are you still with Ethan, or?” Stiles retorted, he didn’t want to remember anything having to do with his relationship with Lydia.

“We broke up, 3 years into the relationship. Wanted different things, had different goals,” he answered, not pushing the question on Stiles.

Stiles liked that. Even if he was such an arrogant asshole back in high school, he wouldn’t push him on things. That is except for the time he obsessively wanted the bite.

“We had sort of an on-again, off-again relationship for 2 years. Then I left,” Stiles confessed

“You guys were the image of soulmates though.”

“We were. Guess we weren’t meant to be.”

Jackson didn’t say anything else. The appetizers were done and the waiter took the empty plates away, another one bringing the main course a while later.

“Wine?” Jackson asked as his waiter poured him a glass.

“During the middle of the day? No thanks, just water,” Stiles replied.

“Jeez, you make me sound like an alcoholic, I’m not. I only have wine when company’s over.”

“To look like a wine snob?”

“To look prestigious, but you don’t get that, do you?” Jackson snarked.

Stiles chuckles, “you know, for a moment I was beginning to think that you would’ve changed a little. You’re still an ass,” he said, before taking a sip of his water.

The main course was a salmon steak with cream sauce and Mediterranean chickpea salad. Stiles doesn’t like salmon, but he eats anyway, he had no time to be picky. If he had, he wouldn’t be one of the best assassins.

During the main course Jackson was blabbering about all his wins and boasting about himself like he was in an interview. Stiles already knew half of what Jackson was talking about, but he also seemed to talk about other things too. Jackson talked so much that Stiles was glad he decided to record their conversation. Jackson talked about his other properties, a winter cabin up north of Bannock County near Pierre Lake, a penthouse apartment he occasionally stayed in which was located on the top of the skyscraper on Aspect Avenue.

“So, how about you? I know bodyguards aren’t really rich, but I know you must have made a good income.”

“Me? I just own a small two-room apartment in west Bannock,” Stiles answered.

“In the more, how shall I say it? Poorer areas?”

“If you put it like that, yeah.”

“Isn’t there a lot of crimes in that area?”

“Yes, but in case you haven’t put it in your pea brain yet, I’m a professionally trained bodyguard with two years experience of working with the FBI.”

“I can’t be blamed when the most skinny, noodle-limbed kid in high school becomes a bodyguard and I still associate you as the same skinny kid who can’t catch a lacrosse ball even if someone gave a heads up.”

“Do you want to test if your association stands true?”

“Are you up for it?”

“Would I challenge you, if I wasn’t?”

Jackson smirks, “fine, we shall see.”

Lunch comes to an end with a beverage, Jackson gets a glass of water while Stiles asks for a coffee, a flat white.

After, Jackson shows him around. The mansion had a pool, gym, and essentially everything a mansion had. He also had an arena room where he occasionally brawled with his trainer, another werewolf since Jackson couldn’t brawl a human without cracking something.

_ ‘We’ll see about that,’ _ Stiles thought.

By the time Jackson finished his tour around the house and of his luxury cars, the food had settled and they made their way to the arena.

“You’ll brawl with Lewis, my bodyguard.”

Lewis was, maybe a head taller than Stiles, and built like an ox. He got into his position and Stiles did too.

“Three minutes, Stilinski. That’s all you get.”

Stiles nods, a timer starts, counting down before it buzzes. As they circled each other, their fists up in the air, Stiles could tell Lewis seemed to hesitate.

He took it to his advantage and grabbed Lewis’ left hand with his right, pivoting with his left foot which was in the front. He uses his hips to balance himself as flipped Lewis using a more karate method, which sent Lewis over his back and onto the ground from his left shoulder.

The buzzer stops, with barely thirty seconds gone. Stiles reaches his hand out to Lewis to pull him up. He accepts and pulls himself up.

Jackson claps, his claps echoing across the arena.

“I’m impressed, Stiles. Maybe Lewis was not up to your bar,” Jackson said as he slipped the black coat he was wearing off. Throwing it on the floor before stepping into the arena, “This time, I’m challenging you.”

Stiles gets in his stance, moving his neck from side to side, “I accept.”

The buzzer resets, three minutes with a five-second countdown.

Jackson gets into position and the buzzer rings. He makes the first move, tackling Stiles, lifting him to flip him over. Stiles falls over, but he brings Jackson down with him. He rolled back up and Jackson got up as well. They got into position again, moving around in a circle.

“Are you holding back?” Stiles asked.

Jackson nods, “Fine, I won’t.”

Jackson lunges forward with a fist swinging a punch on Stiles’ cheekbone. He staggers back but moves in, tackling Jackson. Jackson holds Stiles from behind, his arm around Stiles’ neck.

“Fuck,” Stiles sputtered out.

He holds onto Jackson’s arm that was hooked around his neck and bends forward with everything he had. Jackson goes up and over him, hitting the floor with a thud. Stiles gets on his knees and Jackson starts standing up. Stiles stands up as well, Jackson getting into position.

Stiles felt hesitant, but he put his hands up to his chest, his left foot planted behind. Jackson moves forward for another punch, and Stiles moves his head away, his right hand holding Jackson’s left hand and moving it to his right. Jackson was taken aback as Stiles pulled him down and put his elbow on Jackson’s back. Right at the spine. His left hand was restrained by Stiles pulling it back. Jackson’s arm was locked until Stiles moved away.

*****

Jackson looked up at Stiles. His eyes showed no emotion, it’s as if there was no one there, at all. Just a dark void.

*****

There was still one minute left on the timer, and they got into position. Jackson tackles Stiles, punching him straight on the face and turning him around with his arm around Stiles’ neck. Stiles steadies himself and flips Jackson, falling onto the floor with Jackson flying over him.

He quickly gets up. Blood trickling down his nose, tasting the metallic taste of it as he licked his lip. Jackson doesn't wait this time either. He throws a punch, but Stiles catches it, grappling on to arm to throw Jackson onto the ground. He pins Jackson down, his hands around Jackson’s wrists, and his legs holding Jackson down. Jackson looked terrified as the grip Stiles had around Jackson’s wrist got firmer. The blood dripped down onto Jackson’s shirt as Stiles forced him down. The buzzer rings and they stay in the same position until Stiles gets up.

“Stiles, you’re a whole new person,” Jackson said, still panting.

Stiles got off of him, “You could say that,” he said as he wiped the blood off his lips and under his nose with the back of his hand.

“I’m going to think about you for a while. You showed some good potential here.”

Stiles nods.

Jackson took his coat up from the floor and went to see Stiles out. The valet brought the car to the front and Stiles got in.

“Goodbye, Stiles,” Jackson said as Stiles got in his car, “take care.”

“You too,” Stiles said, looking at Jackson once more before driving out the front gate.

He drives back home, taking his phone out to listen to the recording, noting every piece of new information down. He cleaned himself up, his nose was going to bruise, but he couldn’t care much about it.

He began planning how he was going to do, the faster the better since he couldn’t spend a day around Jackson and still do it. He couldn’t do any sniper attacks, but he can still rely on his Glock, his most used weapon to assassinate targets. The best place to carry it out was whilst Jackson was on his morning run. The route was secluded enough that he can go through with it and not bring any attention to himself. The mansion was also in his interest.

His head still asked him,  _ ‘was he really going to do this?’ _

_ ‘Was he going to kill Jackson Whittemore?’ _

“Yes,” he muttered out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies if the brawl scene was crappily written, it was my first time writing a type of scene like it :)


	3. Chapter 3

Stiles woke up the next morning getting up as early as he could, driving himself to the mansion, he still needed to complete his job and maybe he could just do it today. His Glock in his holster. As he sat in his car, his breathing got faster, more shallow.

He had to do it or else he could never.

Right at six, Jackson is out, running without a bodyguard. Lewis wasn’t anywhere to be seen.

Stiles stayed inside his car as Jackson jogs past it.

He slowly gets out, following Jackson with his hand on the holster.

Once Jackson stepped into the most secluded road he had on his route, Stiles pulled the gun out, cocking it and aiming it straight at Jackson’s head.

Jackson stops at the sound of Stiles cocking the gun.

“I know it’s you, Stiles.”

Stiles gulped,  _ ‘what?’ _

Jackson turns around, “What happened to you, Stiles?”

Stiles aims the gun straight at Jackson, trying to hold it there, his finger on the trigger. His hand shook, unsteady as it had never been.

He puts his hand down, “fuck,” he grunted.

“I don’t know,” Stiles said, “I don’t know,” he repeated, softer.

“Hayes knew you were one of the best assassins, Hayes didn’t know that you couldn’t kill his target.”

“I can,” Stiles gritted through his teeth, raising his gun up again, the gun only inches away from Jackson’s head.

The grip on his gun getting harder, but no matter how much he wanted to put his finger on the trigger. He didn’t. He couldn’t.

Jackson put his hand on the gun, pushing it down, as he looked into Stiles’ eyes. Those icy, blue-gray eyes were weirdly magnetic. Stiles couldn’t look away from them.

Stiles moved his gun away from Jackson’s hand, pointing it at his forehead.

“Then do it, what’s stopping you?”

Stiles clenched his jaw, trying his hardest to just shoot Jackson.

_ ‘Just shoot him!’ _ he screamed at himself.

Stiles jerked his gun above Jackson, shooting into the air. Stiles throws his gun away from himself. Jackson didn’t even flinch, he just softly wrapped his arm around Stiles for a hug. It took Stiles by surprise, Jackson wasn’t one for affection.

“Get the fuck away from me,” Stiles muttered as he pushed Jackson away.

Jackson stumbles backward, Stiles walks to his gun which was across the road, and picks it up.

He walks away, leaving Jackson there. He didn’t know if Jackson would call the police on him. Arrest him for the attempted assassination. He couldn’t care if Jackson did.

Later that day, after the sun went down, two knocks echoed from Stiles’ apartment door. Stiles braces himself for the police being on the other side of the door and opens it. It was Jackson instead, he was hoping it’d be the police. To arrest him and punish him for his crimes.

“What do you want?” Stiles asked, “How did you find me?”

“I want to talk.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jackson comes over to talk to Stiles.

Stiles glanced up and down Jackson’s body, he was just wearing a grey, collared shirt, jeans, not something a prestigious lawyer would be seen wearing. Stiles opens the door further, inviting Jackson inside.

“How much did he offer?” Jackson asked as soon as Stiles closed the door.

“Fifteen million, then later twenty.”

“That ass, he knows I’m worth more than that,” Jackson hissed.

Jackson’s statement caught him off-guard, “Are you really going to go  _ Julius Caesar _ in front of your assassin here?”

“I need to keep up appearances, even if it’s in front of my assassin. An incompetent one, nonetheless.”

“You can’t say that, you don’t know what I’ve done.”

Jackson sits himself down on the couch, spread out like he’d been here before. Stiles sits down on the other side of the couch, his eyes glancing down Jackson’s body, the shirt fitted tightly on Jackson’s body, Stiles’ mind wanders to the bleak memories of locker room glimpses, he wondered if Jackson was just as fit, or even fitter. Jackson clears his throat and Stiles looks down, his cheeks getting hotter.

“So, what have you done?”

“What?” Stiles looked up, slightly furrowing his brows together

“You said that I don’t know what you’ve done, so I’m asking you. What have you done, Stiles?”

“Is this some kind of stint to arrest me?” Stiles asked, “ If so, just get over it. Call the police, bring them here.”

“I’m not going to,” Jackson replied.

“Why not?”

“Because I know you, Stiles. This isn’t you.”

“What if it is? What if I am the one who’s assassinated twenty-seven politicians and people of high profile worldwide?”

Jackson didn’t say anything more, just moved his head forward as to listen in.

“I’ve been a contract killer, working as an enforcer in criminal organizations before it dissolved,” he continued, “after that, I’ve just been alone. All of these things, I’ve done. It wasn’t out of my will.”

“What would your father think of all this?” Jackson asked.

“He isn’t here to think of it,” Stiles replied harshly, “he died a year ago. Sudden stroke.”

Stiles looked at Jackson, he didn’t have any emotion visible. Jackson’s gaze falls to the floor, nodding softly.

“I’m sorry, for your loss,” Jackson said.

Stiles looks away, “anything else you want to know?” he muttered.

“Was it true? The bodyguard story?”

“Sort of. An enforcer is like a bodyguard...in a way. Killing people who are a threat to the organization, protecting the organization.”

Jackson clicks his tongue, “Look, I’m not going to arrest you. As much as you have violated the law, and as much as my brain is telling me to dial 911. I’m not. I don’t have any interest in that shit.”

“Then what the fuck are you here for?” Stiles asked as he stood up from the couch, his voice harsh and abrupt, “To make me feel like shit? Huh? Remind me again of what I’ve done when it continues to haunt me every day?  _ Why the fuck did you come here, Jackson?  _ ”

He didn’t answer, his eyes didn’t even move up to meet Stiles’.

Stiles took a deep breath to compose himself, “Leave. Leave and don’t fucking come back here,” he ordered Jackson.

Jackson stands up, he looks defeated as he brushes past Stiles. Stiles didn’t have to turn around to know that Jackson glanced at him as he opened the door.

“Goodnight, Stiles.”

Stiles’ face twitched, anger still bubbling inside him even though he was alone now. He sighs, finally moving from where he’s standing towards the fridge. Taking out a beer, he drank more than half of it with the fridge door open.

“Fuck this, I can’t do this,” he muttered to no one but himself.

He had to admit, no matter how much he tried to, he couldn’t kill Jackson. He wasn’t even sure why but he knew he couldn’t.


	5. Chapter 5

Jackson’s plan didn’t go according to plan. Why did anything he’d say come out so arrogant and cocky? Why did he have to  _ keep up appearances _ ? All he wanted to do was talk to Stiles and all he did was fuck his only chance up. Hell, he didn’t even care if he’d get assassinated by Stiles, he deserves to be. He wouldn’t mind if Stiles was the last face he’d seen, even if Stiles was the one pulling the trigger.

His thoughts drift away from Stiles the assassin to  _ just Stiles _ . Jackson vividly imagines the brown eyes that glowed the rich whiskey color in the sunlight, the morning sun turning his pale skin into a golden yellow.

“Sir? Sir!” Lewis’ hand tapping Jackson’s arm brought him out of his thoughts.

“Er- yes?”

Lewis doesn’t say anything, just waits for Jackson to figure out that the car stopped moving and he was in front of the law firm.

Jackson clears his throat, quickly getting out of the car, and Lewis hands him his briefcase. He felt his face heating up, god was he really thinking that a second ago?

In his office, his assistant briefed him on today’s schedule, nothing big. Just meeting with new clientele and working on current ones, but no court trials. That eased Jackson’s nerves a little.

He orders his assistant to bring him a coffee and then begins to look through some documents he’s been working on since yesterday.

Throughout the day, which seemed to drag, his thoughts kept drifting to Stiles. He wanted to just stand up from his seat and walk all the way to Elk Avenue, the fifth building from the right and to the second floor. But he couldn’t, he was stuck at work, listening and helping new clients, although it was quarter-assed. Not half-assed, just a quarter.

During lunch, he calls someone he hadn’t called in a long time. Scott McCall. Surely he’d be able to help, after all, Stiles is- or was his best friend.

“Hello?” Scott asked, of course, Scott wouldn’t know it was Jackson, he was calling from his desk telephone.

“McCall?”

“Jackson?”

“Mhm. Scott, I know I’m calling out of the blue and it’s probably early for you, but I need your help,” Jackson said.

“What happened?”

“I- uh,” Jackson didn’t know how to dump everything over the phone to Scott, “Is there any way you could come here? To Bannock?”

“Bannock? That’s a three-hour plane ride and I don’t know if I can get a ticket this early-”

“Fine, I’m flying there.”

“A- wha- ok?” Scott stuttered out, “Jackson, are you sure?”

“I don’t know,” Jackson said before ending the call. He calls his assistant up, telling her that he needed to take the rest of the day off. He walks out, Lewis following behind him to his apartment which was a good 5-minute walk. Lewis urged that Jackson wait for the car to come, but he couldn’t wait. Darting through the busy streets of Bannock, pushing through the crowds with Lewis trying to keep up with him. He called up the airport to get his jet ready, he needed it urgently.

At the building of his penthouse apartment, he gets in his car, the one that’s conveniently parked in the garage. It was a gift from his father, a Ferrari F8 Spider. He gets in it, not giving any time for Lewis to catch up. He zooms off, speeding through the streets. He drives to the airport where his private jet was parked in one of the common hangars.

Driving out on the highway, he overtook other cars, his phone going off like crazy with calls from his assistant, Lewis, and his parents.

At the airport, the jet wasn’t ready yet. A little money and influence quicked it up, Jackson would usually bitch about how the system would work about that, but he didn’t have the time to.

In the jet, he was on a direct flight to Beacon Hills, refusing to drink a glass, he just anxiously sat in the jet, his leg bouncing as he tried to collect his thoughts together.

Fuck, what was he going to say? How was he going to say all of it?

As the jet neared Beacon Hills, he called Scott to come and get him. Scott said he was on his way.

The jet lands in Beacon Hills in about an hour, Jackson quickly walking out of the jet. He walked out of the airport to find Scott waiting for him, he was expecting Scott on his bike, but Scott was in an SUV, to be specific, a Bentley Bentayga.

“Didn’t expect you to be driving in a 2017 Bentley Bentayga,” Jackson said, getting into the passenger seat.

“Is that an insult or compliment?”

“Take it whatever way you want.”

“So, what did you want to talk about? Are you doing alright?” Scott asked.

“Yeah, I’m doing fine… I guess, but there’s a lot to unpack.”

“Ok, I’ll drive us to my apartment,” Scott said, driving out onto the highway.

In the car, Jackson nervously shuffled in his seat, constantly pulling on his tie. A nervous habit of his. Scott pulls into a sub-level parking of an apartment complex. Scott had earned quite a lot being a veterinarian.

At his apartment, Scott poured a glass of water for him and Jackson, sitting down at the dining table, Jackson noticed a small harlequin coated dog, what he assumed was a Beauceron.

“That’s Moose,” Scott said, noticing Jackson’s stare at the sleeping dog.

“Suits you,” Jackson said, before taking a sip of his water, “Anyway, um… how do I put this? I met Stiles, the other day.”

“Wait, you did?”

Jackson nods, “I invited him over and well, he’s changed a lot.”

“Oh…”

“Yeah, um, he’s an assassin now, he was contracted to kill me by my rival, that didn’t happen and I went over to talk to him last night. I just- I fucked it up, and I don’t know what to do.”

Scott didn’t say anything, he looked shocked, “Er- I… I don’t know what to say, so, let me get this straight, Stiles is an assassin, he was going to kill you but he didn’t and then you found his address and went over to talk to him and it ended badly?”

“Look, this isn’t Stiles, I mean, it’s him, but it’s also not. Not in the Nogitsune way, just that, it doesn’t feel like him. I invited him over for lunch before that, we brawled and during it, his eyes seemed to shift, his whole face, demeanor, everything. Like he wasn’t there? I mean, it felt like fighting a robot,” Jackson stumbled over his thoughts, “It didn’t feel like Stiles was there, in the last minute of the fight, and when he had me pinned down, the buzzer stunned him out. He looked stunned for a moment, but I don’t know. I felt like he could’ve killed me then and there if the buzzer didn’t happen.”

“Did you pick up on anything? Supernatural?”

Jackson shook his head, “no.”

“Nothing unusual?”

“I haven’t seen Stiles in more than three years, do you think I’d pick up on anything new if he were? Anyway, I don’t know if I can deal with both Hayes coming for my head and Stiles.”

“Do you think he’s going to come after you?”

“No, he can’t. He tried, but when he had the gun up against my head, I could tell he was trying so hard to pull the trigger. His hand quivered, eyes darted. His heartbeat, it was echoing in my ears faster than a rabbit’s,” Jackson said, stopping before the part where Stiles does shoot into the air, and Jackson’s stupid move of hugging his goddamn assassin.

“I don’t know if I can help, I can’t leave Beacon Hills at the moment, I wish I could, but I can’t,” Scott said.

“I understand, I just, I needed someone to talk to about it. I won’t report Stiles, it’s not him and I don’t know if I can report him even if he tried killing me. Part of me tells me it’s sensible, the other part just can’t.”

“So what’s your plan?” Scott asked.

“I don’t know,” Jackson replied honestly.

Scott nods as he sips his glass of water.

“Is it possible, I could stay here?”

“Don’t you have your house here as well?”

“I know, I just don’t want to go there and face my parents right now.”

“You sound like a high schooler,” he chuckled.

“Shut up, McCall.”

“You can stay in the guest room. Are you hungry?”

“No, I ate lunch about two hours ago, I’m alright.”

“I gotta head to the vet clinic, check on some of the inpatients, you can get yourself comfortable with Moose.”

Jackson nods.

*****

“Boss, he still lives.”

“Where is he now?” Hayes asked.

“In a small town called Beacon Hills.”

“How about Sicarius? Where does he live?”

“4563 Elk Avenue, West Bannock, boss.”

“Will you be tending to  _ work _ ?”

“No.”

“Get a car ready for me, first thing morning. Don’t be late or I’ll have you dead myself.”

He gulps, “ok, boss.”

“Good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finished writing the ending of this fic and I'm bumping the weekly uploads to bi-weekly uploads so the new uploading schedule is every Monday and Thursday :]


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit early, I know, I was too excited to upload this (I say with my resting bitch face is on full display, hAH)  
> Anyway, it's 12 AM here and technically Thursday so, yeah :))

Stiles wakes up to pounding knocks on his apartment door. It was early in the morning, the sun’s rays blinding him as soon as he opened his eyes. The pounding didn’t stop as he groggily got out of his bed and walked to his apartment door.

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” he muttered as he walked up to the apartment door, expecting his neighbor who’d usually wake him up like this.

He opens the door to first not recognize the three people standing there. They don’t give him any time as one of them punches Stiles hard across the face. He falls to the floor, and one of them, who Stiles recognized to be Mr. Hayes comes into his vision.

“I was counting on you, Sicarius,” he muttered before he kicked Stiles, losing consciousness that was barely holding on.

*****

Jackson wakes up, more rested than he was. The sun was up, he smelt the sweet smell of coffee wafting through the air. He gets out of bed, he didn’t have any clothes to wear except the ones he was wearing yesterday so he puts them on. He washes his face, brushes his teeth with an extra toothbrush which was neatly placed in one of the drawers and freshens himself up.

Scott was outside, already ready for work as he poured two cups of coffee.

“Milk?” Scott asked as Jackson walked out.

“Sure, put a little,” Jackson said, and Scott poured a little to make his coffee have a shade of cinnamon to it.

He slides the cup across the kitchen island and Jackson takes a sip. He felt a small nudge on his left thigh to find Moose resting his head against Jackson’s leg.

“What’s he doing?” Jackson asked.

“Oh, just greeting you, and asking you for scratches behind his ear,” Scott said.

Jackson used his free hand to pet Moose, giving him what he wanted.

Moose happily moves closer to Scott while they drink their coffee. Jackson’s phone started ringing and it was his father. For the eightieth time.

“You’re going to have to take that,” Scott murmured.

Jackson sighs, nodding before he picks up the phone at last.

“Hey, dad.”

_“Finally, he’s picked up the phone. Jackson, where are you? Why aren’t you picking up your phone? Why isn’t Lewis picking his phone up either?”_

The last question caught him off-guard, why would his father ask about Lewis.

“I don’t know, I’m not with Lewis right now.”

_“Your assistant told us that you’re in Beacon Hills, you weren’t at your house here. Where are you?”_

“I’m at a friend’s, stayed the night here.”

_“I know you’ve been talking about a break from work, but you have an important trial coming up, we are very close to winning it and I don’t want you to lower our reputation by losing to Hayes.”_

“I’ll be on a plane back to Bannock today, dad, don’t worry.”

 _“It’s just that, you have been acting off lately… Are you doing okay? Is this about Ethan?”_ His dad’s voice softened.

Jackson didn’t know whether he was going to lie his ass off or, say the truth and sound like he came out of a nuthouse.

“Don’t worry about me, dad. I’m doing fine,” he lied, well, it wasn’t fully a lie. He wasn’t fine, but he didn’t want his dad to worry about it.

_“Have a safe journey home back to Bannock, Jackson. I’ll see you on the day of the trial.”_

“You will,” Jackson said before ending the call. “Hopefully.”

There was a moment of silence before Scott spoke up.

“Do you need a ride to the airport?”

Jackson nods.

Scott drives him to the airport before he heads off to work, Moose joined the ride in the back seat, Jackson didn’t feel particularly low in spirits, but Moose’ aggressive yet, compassionate licks across his cheek as he said goodbye was enough to make him crack a small smile.

“Keep me updated on Stiles, I’ll come to Bannock as soon as I can.”

“Ok, I will,” Jackson promised.

*****

Jackson was back in Bannock in a matter of a couple of hours, trying to fight off whatever mix of incomprehensible emotions by taking it out in his gym. Lewis wasn’t there, which was strange but it was the least of his problems.

Hitting the punching bag over and over again, his throat got tighter as he hit it harder. Letting out everything with one punch, he punched way too hard, sending the punching bag and the stand backward.

He fell to his knees, his voice breaking into silent sobs. He was just so frustrated and angry at himself. His head clouding with Stiles and the conversation that happened two nights ago.

He needed to apologize. Apologize for being such a dick, for everything. God that sounded so ridiculous, apologizing to his assassin. Was he in his right mind? Probably not.

He takes a shower, wearing something casual before driving over there. The evening was dawning upon Bannock, the colors of the sunset shining through the tall buildings. He walks up to the second floor, stopping in front of the door. The air felt odd, having a slight tinge of eerie-ness floating in it. The door drifts open even before Jackson laid a finger on the doorknob.

Jackson moved the door open, the apartment was dark, no one was inside. Jackson walks in, turning the lights on.

 _‘Maybe Stiles was just out, inside a shop or something,’_ Jackson thought, walking around the apartment, he was going to wait for Stiles, he needed to apologize somehow.

Minutes pass, they turn from five to fifteen and before Jackson knew, it’s been an hour in Stiles’ apartment, waiting for Stiles who never turned up. Jackson waits an hour more, Stiles didn’t turn up. He leaves the apartment, driving back to the mansion where Lewis was still nowhere to be found, nor was his phone turned on.

At the mansion, Jackson sat outside in the night, looking at the still water of his pool ripple when a breeze rolled by. He sat out there for a good hour, his head still clouded with questions as to why Stiles didn’t show up. He wished he’d have Stiles’ number to leave a voicemail in, to at least get the words _‘I’m sorry’_ out of his mouth but he didn’t have it. Nor did he have a way to get it. Ever.

Jackson retires for the night. As much as he didn’t want to, he still had a life to attend to other than thinking about Stiles and his doe eyes, long brown locks that suited him when it was grown out like it is, the chiseled frame he got over the years. Fuck, there he went again.

*****

The next morning, Lewis didn't report in for work, it was unusual but Jackson had other bodyguards that accompanied him through the day. He tried calling Lewis but his cell was unavailable. When the evening neared, he ended his work for the day instead of working more into the night. Visiting the apartment Stiles lived in to find it the same as it was yesterday. At home, right after dinner, one of his housekeepers alerted him about someone who had come to the mansion. Insisting that they meet with Jackson.

“Who is it?”

“A woman, short stature, red hair.”

“Oh? Let her in,” Jackson ordered, he knew who exactly it was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uploading this before I sleep for two reasons, a. it's my sister's bday tommorow? today? and I have to like socialize and stuff. B. I have been having face-to-face school starting the top of this year and it's taking a toll on me, *blows party horn semi-depressingly because I'm drained and worked to the core* (I'm on my last year of secondary)  
>  **for those who are reading after this is all uploaded, please take this as an intermission, drink some water, have a snack, study on assignments that are due, or sleep/take a nap. You're in for a wild ride. Lovingly yours, Feral ;)**  
> 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **T/W: Psychological Torture, Death (not so graphic and not a main character) yep, this one's pretty rough**

She walks in, the constant clicking of heels on tiles meant she was running in high heels towards Jackson.

“I came as soon as Scott told me,” she said.

“Told you about Stiles?”

“No, about the weather. Yes, about Stiles.”

“He’s uh, I don’t know where he is.”

“What do you mean you don’t know where he is?”

“I went to his apartment, he wasn’t there, today and yesterday. I think he’s been taken, abducted by someone. But who?”

“Do you know anyone who would?”

“He was ordered to assassinate me by Hayes, but it didn’t happen and Hayes did seem a little weird when he was on an interview today. Extremely nervous but confident, like he had something planned.”

“I saw the interview.”

“You know a thing or two about getting information, right? Do you think you could keep a short leash on Hayes?”

“Sure, for Stiles.”

“For Stiles.”

*****

Stiles could feel bare concrete against his skin, his back aching as he gained consciousness. The room he was in was dark, barely any light but scarce rays of moonlight shone through two small hopper windows on one wall. He was in a concrete basement. He tried to move but his wrists were bound together with duct tape and so were his ankles.

He squirms around, trying to get himself to sit up. The dark only made it harder since he couldn’t tell where the floor ends and the walls start. He hit his head a few times on walls but he finally got himself to sit up. He wasn’t wearing anything but the shorts he wore to sleep.

He tries ripping the duct tape off his wrists, lifting his hands and swinging them down away from each other. Hayes should’ve known that if he was going to capture an assassin like Stiles, he should’ve used a whole roll of duct tape and put his hands behind his damn back.

He uses his hands to free his legs and he was free to roam around the dark room, the hopper windows were too small to climb out of so that wasn’t an option.

Feeling around the room, he found nothing, but he found the door. It was steel, and felt like it had a sliding mechanism to it.

He didn’t know what Hayes was going to do to him, and all he could do at the moment was wait inside the cold room.

The sun rose, the room lit up and the door was indeed a sliding door of sorts. An hour or so later, he heard faint footsteps come up to the other side of the door. The door opens, Stiles gets ready to tackle whoever it was and to get the hell out of wherever he was.

The door opens, with Lewis on the other side.

“Lewis, thank god you’re here-” Stiles said but not before Lewis holds a gun up against him.

“Wait, wha-” Stiles said, confused but then Hayes walked in.

“He won’t shoot you if you follow the rules. I know you don’t do that very often Sicarius, but I hope you will, for the sake of your life,” Hayes sneered.

Then Stiles understood, Lewis was working with Hayes.

“If you had Lewis working for you, why didn’t he assassinate Jackson?” Stiles asked.

“Well, I wanted the job to be done by someone who I thought I could trust, someone who’d do their job efficiently and successfully. I must’ve been wrong to do so.”

“What do you want from me?”

“I  _ wanted _ you to kill Jackson Whittemore. You couldn’t. You betrayed me and now you need to be punished.”

Stiles darts his eyes around the room, seeing possible ways he could get out of there. He couldn’t make a single move with Lewis holding a gun at his head at point-blank, he couldn’t take the big risk of death. The only risk of death.

“How do you plan on doing that? Trap me inside this room forever? Starve me to death? Shoot me at point-blank?”

“I was thinking more creatively,” Hayes said, “but now, we don’t want to do anything on an empty stomach now, do we?”

He drops a sandwich wrapped with plastic onto the floor, before walking out. Lewis closed the door behind him. Stiles eats the sandwich, and the day goes by, the sun setting and no word from anyone. Just waiting.

It took a toll on him, he needed to relieve himself so badly, he did it at a corner, the night was spent curled up at the corner across, trying to sleep in the cold, putrid, drafty room while hunger grew inside him, growling restlessly. The next morning or afternoon, Stiles couldn’t tell, Lewis walked in with another man. They handcuffed Stiles and took him down the hall, a gun still pointed at his head from the back.

They lead him into a room, strapping Stiles into a chair and leaving him in the dark once again.

For a moment, Stiles wondered how this was torturing, being bound to a chair in a dark room, then the voice came.

“Hey kiddo,” the voice said, Stiles’ breath halted as it echoed through the room.

“I was just- I was just calling to see if you were okay,” it continued.

“No,” Stiles muttered, Hayes knew exactly what he was doing.

“Please, call me back when you get this, Stiles.”

“No, fuck,” Stiles said, trying to get himself out of the chair, he couldn’t bear this.

“I miss you,” the voice once again echoed.

Hayes was playing voicemails from Stiles’ phone, voicemails he never had the heart to answer but kept because they were, well... His dad’s last words to Stiles in a way.

“Happy Birthday, son...” another one began playing.

Stiles tried to undo the ropes, as the voicemails went on, Stiles had to try and break the chair to get himself free. Squirming in the chair, grunting and groaning as he used all his strength to break free.

He heard Hayes cackling over the voicemail recordings as it continued playing through speakers that Stiles couldn’t see.

Hayes’ voice merged with his father’s as he talked, presumably on a phone call. Talking about meeting somewhere, it was hard for Stiles to decipher what he was saying but Hayes was planning something.

The more he moved around, trying to pry his arms out the armrests of the chair, the more the ropes began loosening up even if they felt like they were cutting into Stiles’ skin.

Tears went down his face, he was turning into a mess with his late father’s voice echoing in the room and his mind. The ropes become loose enough that he can slip his out of them, quickly untying his legs and starts to move around, trying to find the door when flood lights turned on with a click. The room was just sheer white for a minute, blinding Stiles who fell to the floor, covering his eyes with his forearm.

“Fuck,” he hissed, he blinked as much as he can, getting himself adjusted to the light.

He saw the wooden door, quickly kicking it down. He is met with Lewis, who pins him to the wall. Stiles kicks Lewis who doubles over and Stiles takes the moment to take the pistol out of Lewis’ holster. Lewis grabs onto Stiles’ arms, trying to get the gun to which Stiles tries to force his way out. Lewis tackles Stiles to the floor, to which Stiles was hoping it wouldn’t come to. A dude twice the size of him, on top, and the easiest, most efficient way was using the gun.

And he did.

Shooting the gun, the bullet went right through Lewis’ head. Blood sprayed everywhere, covering Stiles’ face in splatters of blood. Lewis’ body falls limps on Stiles and he pushes it off. Unfazed by what just happened, he pickpockets Lewis, taking the wallet since he didn’t have his.

Nothing really came to his mind, it was just like a blank paper with  _ ‘get the fuck out of there’ _ written across it with a bold red marker.

Walking down the walkway, he found another door, kicking it down to find his phone on a table, a microphone nearby connected to a system.

The voicemails were still playing and he stopped them. He takes his phone and walks out of the room. He finds his way up a flight of stairs to exit what looked like a concrete bunker, in the woods. A blue car was parked to the right, Stiles took it as his cue to break in the car, smashing the window to get in and hot-wiring the car to start it up. He puts his phone and wallet on the passenger seat as he didn’t have any pockets.

He reverses the car out of where it was parked, following a dirt trail until it turns to tar.

Stiles wipes the blood off his face with his forearm as he drives down the highway, speeding towards a motel the signs pointed to was a dozen miles away. It was dusk, nearing-night now.

He turns the radio on to drown out what just happened, to drown out his father’s voice echoing in his mind. To occupy himself to think about anything else but himself and his stupid, useless life as an assassin.

The radio turned out to be as crappy as always, playing some song about sex and drugs. Stiles turns it off. He tries to focus on the silent ambiance of the car ride to the motel. The engine’s low hum, the clicking when he turns the blinker on to change lanes, the sound of other cars passing by or passing by other cars. It felt simple and would’ve been peaceful if he was just driving out for no reason.

The sun had set and the sky was hues of deep blues and purples when he rolled up to the motel. Walking in the quiet lobby, the attendant raises his eyebrows in surprise. Glancing up and down Stiles’ body, which was half-naked and stained with blood that’s dried.

“A room for one night,” Stiles said, taking the wallet out of his shorts.

“Uhh-” she buffered.

“I need one single room for a night, how much does it cost?” he said harshly.

“Forty-five.”

Stiles takes fifty out and waits for her to give him a room key and his change, which she does quickly.

“Thank you,” he muttered before walking off to his room.

Inside his room, he looked around, the carpet, curtains, and bedding was a dull red. The wallpaper looked like pee-stains and the only other things in the room except for the bed was a nightstand with a phone on top of it and a set of drawers. Stiles tosses the wallet and his phone onto the bed before walking into the bathroom. The tiles were a dull blue, but it didn’t look too disgusting other than a cloudy mirror and rusty showerhead.

Stiles wasn’t going to complain much about the room. After all, it’s not like he was staying more than a night there. He slips off of his shorts and takes a shower, cold but it felt better than having cracked bits of dried blood on himself.

The motel did provide two towels so he used that to wrap around himself as he washed his shorts. He hangs it to dry on the towel rack and walks out, wearing boxers and a wrapped towel. He hears two kids giggling and keys clinking. Peeping out the curtains, the neighboring room belonged to a family, he saw the mother put the key in the keyhole but forgot to lock it before being yanked by her children.

Stiles assumes they were leaving for dinner since there was a restaurant nearby the motel, he also assumes that they wouldn’t mind a few clothes being  _ permanently borrowed _ .

Stiles waits for them to walk away before stepping outside. He makes sure no one is around and quickly sneaks into the room, finding their suitcase on top of the drawer set, open and everything thrown everywhere.

_ ‘They certainly wouldn’t even know if their suitcase looked like THIS!’ _ Stiles thought to himself as he dug through the suitcase to find a dark blue t-shirt and a pair of jeans.

He also found a pair of newly bought sneakers that was only a size bigger than Stiles.

_ ‘Now this is something that would be noticeable,’ _ Stiles thought as he tried them on.

The family’s father, he assumed was the buyer of the sneakers, was only a size bigger than him, so the clothes fit snug on Stiles.

He sneaks back into his room, leaving everything in that room as it is.

Back inside his room, he sat down on the bed, glancing at the phone. He wanted to call Jackson but decided against it for now. Lying down on the bed, he fell asleep before he could think of anything else.

*****

A day had passed ever since both Stiles and Lewis had disappeared. Lydia met up with Hayes at where he got his morning coffee, bumping into him and accidentally spilling a little bit of ice coffee on him. Hayes found Lydia to be  _ interesting  _ and asked her out for lunch.

Meanwhile, Jackson tried to bury his climbing anxiety and feelings about Stiles by working more. He caught himself fantasizing about Stiles way more than he would.

Why was he getting a small schoolboy crush on Stiles? Of all people, he could’ve fallen into a crush with!  _ God, why? _

Another day passes, Jackson wasn’t going to call the police and risk exposing Stiles’ work. Lydia had dialed the emergency number but Jackson irrationally chucked her phone into his pool. He, of course, had to buy a new one.

That was how Lydia learned about Jackson’s growing feelings towards Stiles.

“Hayes has a meeting at the cafe’ tomorrow,” Lydia said, walking into his office.

“Oh,” Jackson yawned as he continued typing on his computer.

“God, Jackson, when was the last time you slept?” She asked, noticing the dark eye bags under Jackson’s eyes.

“Last time as in three hours like last night or when was the last time I got eight hours of sleep?” Jackson asked. “If it’s to the last one, the answer is that I can’t remember.”

“You should rest, you can’t find Stiles if you’re going to be sleep-deprived and burnt out.”

Jackson stops typing, saving the document before slowly closing his laptop, he sighs.

“How can I sleep not knowing if he’s okay?” he asked.

Lydia opened her mouth to answer but closed it a while later when she couldn’t find an answer to his question.

“You can try,” Lydia said a while later.

Jackson nods, Lydia drives him to his mansion.

“You’ll be going to the cafe’ tomorrow, right?” Jackson asked before getting out of the car.

Lydia nods.

“Be safe, good night, Lydia.”

He gets out of the car as Lydia said goodnight and he watches her car drive away before walking in.

*****

The next morning, Stiles woke up from a nightmare. His father’s voicemails ringing in his ears even after he woke up. The sun wasn’t up and everything felt still. Stiles sat up from the bed, turning on one of the lights of the room.

He gets up, washing his face and glancing at himself in the clouded mirror before walking out. Stiles wears the clothes he stole from last night and walks out with five dollars and his room key. Double locking the door before going off to find the vending machine he saw while finding his room.

He finds it, the selection of snacks was mediocre, he chose a packet of Reese’s peanut butter cups, a bottle of war and another packet of Cheez-its, the total of it was five dollars on the dot. He put the five dollars in and luckily the vending machine worked and gave him what he paid for with an unnecessary change of fifty cents.

He eats the Reese's peanut butter cups he bought as he walks around, he watches the sunrise against the flat horizon before walking into his room. Lying back down on his bed, he idly looked through his phone.

He had a photo he had taken of Jackson right before meeting him, the morning sun making his dirty blonde hair shine a golden haze, his muscles defined starkly by shadow and light. Jackson looked godly and Stiles was reluctant to admit to himself that he felt  _ something _ towards Jackson.

Some sort of magnetism, pulling his mind to think about Jackson. Not the way assassins would, but how he felt towards Lydia… Like a crush.

“Fuuuuuck no.” He sighed to no one but himself, “just. No.”

Stiles stopped himself from thinking further about it, closing his eyes and relaxing his body to only let himself be taken by sleep. The motel check-out begins at eleven anyways.

He was woken up by a commotion, children laughing and something being banged over and over again at a wall. He groggily gets up to look outside to find the same two kids from yesterday pushing a maintenance cart against one of the pillars outside Stiles’ room, laughing when it hit against the pillar.

He walks out, stopping the maintenance cart before it hits the pillar. The kids look at him like he’d just ruin the fun.

“You’re mean, Mister!” one of them said.

Stiles only glared at them, his face twitching as he held back a sneer. They walk off with slumped backs and pestering complaints.

Stiles walks back in and finds his eyes fixated on the landline on the nightstand.

“Ah, fuck it,” Stiles said, sitting down on the bed.

He takes the telephone up to his ear, the dial tone flat and monotonous against his shaky breath. Stiles knew Jackson’s number, even if Jackson didn’t know that. Well, he only knew the number to his office, but he just hoped Jackson would be there. It was a little after nine now, he should be at work. He dials the number, the dial tone ringing twice before a woman answers the phone.

_ “Whittemore Consultancy, how may I help you?” _

“I’d, uh- I’d like to speak to Jackson Whittemore please,” Stiles said.

_ “Mr. Whittmore is in a court session, he would not be available until later, sir.” _

“Please, I need to talk to him.” Stiles insisted, “I wouldn’t call at this time of the day if it wasn’t important.”

The woman, who Stiles assumes is his assistant, doesn't say anything.

“Please, I have to talk to him. I  _ have _ to,” Stiles pleaded.

_ “I’ll try what I can do,” _ she said and puts the call on hold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I, as an author, am pretty torn between saying "haha suck it, suckers >:)" and "I'm terribly, awfully, completely, absolutely sorry for the pain I have caused :("  
> So take which ever response suits you at the moment.


	8. Chapter 8

Jackson was in the midst of supporting his client when he saw his assistant peek her head inside the room. Jackson could read her face instantly, something was up. He holds his hand up at her to tell her to wait and finishes what he was saying which was the last thing he needed to say.

“Court is adjourned,” the judge said, hitting the gavel on the sound block once

He exits the room, Jackson exiting right after with the rest slowly getting up from their seats.

“What is it?” Jackson asked.

“Someone’s on the phone, insisting that he needs to talk to you,” the assistant hands him the cellphone.

“Jackson Whittemore, who is this?” Jackson asked, walking towards the elevator with his assistant scurrying behind him.

_ “Jackson, it’s me, Stiles,” _ the voice on the other side of the line said.

He stops dead in his tracks, “Stiles, is it really you?”

_ “I’m calling from a motel, I was uh-” _ Stiles falters,  _ “I was abducted by Hayes for a while. I’m fine now… I guess.” _

“For a while? For A While?! No, Stiles, you were missing for three days and I’ve been worried out of my damn head!” he raised his voice.

_ “I’m sorry.” _

Jackson sucks in a breath, “don’t be, it’s not your fault. What motel are you staying at?”

_ “Breezy motel, up north in Bannock County.” _

“I’m coming.”

_ “I’m checking out of here at eleven, then I’m going to continue driving north.” _

“I have a-”

_ “Yeah, I know, your winter cabin near Pierre Lake.” _ Stiles cuts him off,  _ “meet you there, Jax.” _

Jackson’s heart fluttered at the nickname Stiles used. 

“There’s an extra key in the mouth of the wolf statue, use that to get inside, I’ll take a while to get there.”

Jackson heard Stiles suck in a sharp breath,  _ “er- thanks.” _

“Anytime.”

Jackson ends the call, handing the cellphone back to his assistant, and continues walking, his car waiting outside, instead of driving back to his office, he tells the driver to drive back to his mansion.

At the mansion, he gets out of the car, running to his garage where he last kept his F8 Spider from the other day when he took a day trip to Beacon Hills.

Driving towards the north, he exited the city and drove on the highway towards his cabin. He calls Lydia up who was at the cafe’, keeping an eye on Hayes.

“Lyds, what’s up?” he asked as soon as Lydia picked up the phone.

_ “He’s sitting with someone else, no one I’ve been introduced to. Someone out of work.” _

“Hmm,” Jackson hums, slowing his car to a stop as traffic had piled up the I-93, “fuck why now?”

_ “What?” _

“Traffic on the I-93, out of all times, why now?”

_ “Why are you on the I-93?” _

“Stiles, he called. He’s heading towards my cabin up near Pierre Lake,” Jackson explained, “he was indeed taken by Hayes.”

_ “Oh, um- just get to Stiles, I’ll try to get intel on this.” _

Lydia faltering at the start felt out of place. Jackson didn’t want her to get hurt.

“Lydia, don’t, it’s fine, just I don’t want you to get hurt.”

_ “I’ll be fine, Jackson, don’t worry.” _

*****

Jackson was stuck in traffic for almost half an hour, he’d been through some that were more than an hour, but half an hour in the current situation made him want to rip his road-rage-self out to try and get everything to move faster.

Reaching the winter cabin after two hours on the road, he saw a dark blue car parked outside with a smashed window and a few scratches that made it pretty clear that it was Stiles’. Or he was using it as his getaway.

He parks the car next to it and gets out. He scanned his surrounding, nothing but the soft rustle of wind going through leaves and birds chirping. He also heard the faint shuffling of feet and a steady heartbeat coming from inside the cabin.

Jackson walks up the porch steps of the cabin. Stiles was standing, looking outside the window facing his back towards Jackson.

The door accidentally closed behind Jackson, startling Stiles who turned around in an instance.

“It’s just me,” Jackson said.

Stiles relaxes, his frame loosening, “I need to tell you something.”

Jackson nods, walking to the couch. He invites Stiles to sit down and he does in the armchair diagonal from where Jackson was sitting.

“I killed someone.”

“Ok.”

“That someone was Lewis. He was working with Hayes and it was either a kill or be killed type of situation,” Stiles said, “I’m sorry.”

Jackson doesn’t say anything, neither does Stiles and both of them sit in silence for a moment, Jackson’s ears picking up on the sound of Stiles’ jeans rubbing against the armchair as he shifted in his seat.

“Lewis was working with Hayes?” Jackson asks.

Stiles nods.

“And he’s dead?”

“Yeah, I… I shot him in the head.”

“And Hayes?”

“He was planning something, meeting with someone but I don’t know. I’m not sure.”

“He is? What else happened? Did Hayes hurt you?”

“I guess he is. Of course, he did. Do you think he abducted me for two days for nothing?”

“I’m sorry you had to go through all that.”

“I’ve been through worse,” he mumbled.

“What are you going to do now?”

“I don’t know, move out of Bannock, travel west, maybe?”

Jackson notices Stiles flicking his thumb on his index finger, the same tic he used to do back when he was overwhelmed in high school. Jackson could pick up the bitter stench of pain and uncertainty.

“You can stay here if you want, in the winter cabin. No rent if money’s becoming tight for you,” Jackson offered, he didn’t want Stiles to leave. He didn’t want to lose Stiles, the three days were already torturous to his soul.

“Money’s not a problem, I don’t want to burden you.”

“You won’t. Stiles, I care about you.”

Stiles glances up, surprised at what Jackson had said, “why?”

“Stiles, you can’t just live like this, you can’t. This isn’t who you are.” Jackson said.

Stiles felt irritated at Jackson’s constant phrase of him not being himself. It’s not true, this is him and he can’t go back to being a spastic sixteen-year-old who only had two things to worry about, his dad and his studies. He can’t, not after Scott getting bit because of him, the nogitsune possessing him, Donovan’s death, his dad dying, and especially after becoming an assassin.

“Who are you to tell me who I am and who I’m not?” he snaps at Jackson. He regains his composure with a deep breath. “Who we are and who we need to be to survive are two, very different things, Jax.”

“It’s just that-”

“No, I don’t want to hear whatever shit is going to come out of your mouth next. I’m going to sleep or try to sleep anyways. I’ve dealt with enough these past few days,” Stiles dismissed Jackson before he could say anything more.

He makes his way up the stairs, leaving Jackson behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unlike Jackson, don't call or text while driving!


End file.
